


Titanic

by Newtexe (ArcMages)



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, RMS Titanic, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29502849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcMages/pseuds/Newtexe
Summary: In which Newt Dawson has nothing but a sketchbook and Thomas Bukater has had quite enough with his life.
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Lucky Card

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hii! This is a reupload of a story i wrote years ago. I was surprised to find out that the maze runner fandom still hasnt died out yet so im glad to hop back in! Chapters are mostly short but they vary in length.
> 
> Weekly Updates!

The tavern was tense. A pack of men gathered around a single table, watching anxiously. Some had their hands stuffed into their pockets, scratching their beards, holding back their greed and jealously. At the table, four men sat in two pairs. But all eyes were on a single man with messy, blonde hair; round, brown eyes; and a thin frame. He wore simple loose clothes from shoulder to ankles. But perhaps his most prominent article was the gray hat that never seemed to fall off from his head. Some might mistaken him for a young teenager for his youthful features. Well, he technically was fresh of graduating from being one being twenty-years-old.

A series of cards were spread out facing up across the table, forming two parallel lines. Each line belonging to one of the either teams that was playing. Right now, the game was in a tight situation. They had been going back and forth between passing the win card and it certainly had everyone on edge. And the card in the blonde man's hand was the deciding fate.

There was a moment of silence as the spotlighted male slowly flipped around the card he between two fingers. Upon his lips, a visible smirk emerged. At any moment now, the fate of four men would be decided. It all depended on this one card. And only the blonde man knew his fate before anyone else did.

A series of gasps was let out as the card was suddenly turned around to reveal itself. There wasn't even a second to contain himself after that. The young man jumped up from his seat and let out a holler of spirit. As his friend let out an exasperated gasp, he gave him a heavy pat on the back in excitement. 

"WE WON! WE GOT IT!" The man shouted, throwing his fists into the air. 

And without wasting another second, he grabbed the two rectangular sheets of printed paper which were settled on the table with the cards, crushing them in his hand. He gave his friend, who had gotten ahold of both of their bags, a nod and the two darted out of the tavern, shoving past the crowd of people with force pulled straight from their elated hearts. They didn't care how rude it was or how foolhardy they appeared.

"So long sucker! Thanks for the tickets!" 

The words had slipped past the man's lips and he bursted into laughter. His friend laughed along with him. As their leather-covered feet came in contact with the beating sun, they ran as fast as they could possibly go across the boardwalk which was populated with people of all classes, rich and poor, to say their goodbyes. They hustled through couples giving sobbing kisses, families giving last hugs, and partners tipping their hats.

The man's name was Newt Dawson. His friend was Gally Fabrizio. And their destinies had been determined by the single flip of a card. For by mere chance and wit, they could now board the passage to freedom and opportunity. They could ride on the mark of history itself: the Titanic. 

And boy, were they drowning in euphoria.

On the ship just a few minutes later, the two had made their way to the deck where much of the passengers were gathered at the moment. They had made it in the nick of time to board. The ship hadn't yet left the dock so this was where everyone was waving off their final moments in France. With their hearts still pounding, they pushed though the crowd as if making their way to the border at a concert. Newt latched his hands onto the bar first, he then took Gally's hand pulled him beside him. Together, they tossed their hands into the air at the people below them who waved back. They weren't waving at anyone in particular. They didn't know anyone below the ship. But they waved anyway out of sheer joy.

Newt stepped onto the lower bar of the railing to elevate himself. "WE'RE FREE! Off to New York we go!" He hollered. With the wind pushing against his clothes and through his hair, he felt free. He felt unstoppable. And with that, the ship started to move slowly. Their journey was just beginning.


	2. Family Law

A rich man shouldn't be reckless. It would be a disgrace to the family name to take off your shoes and simply dance by kicking their feet and spinning around as the lower class did. A polite, elegant man should offer his hand to the lady for a dance and then do so while holding her gently. He should keep his eyes in the lady's and look for her heart. Even, if the lady wasn't to his attractions. A man must always be grateful for any lady he is given. For every lady from the rich class was clean and gorgeous.

That was the rule book.

Thomas cuffed up the long sleeves of his shirt and adjusted the bowtie on his collar. He took one last look at himself in the mirror to make sure not a single part of his clothes were wrinkled before exiting the room. In the hallway, he came face to face with his father who praised him for how handsome he was. He was then led to the ship's gourmet dining restaurant.

There, he was met by another family who stood at the doors. They must've have arrived first. Thomas wondered how long they have been waiting for him, if he kept them for long. 

His father realized this and immediately bowed. "Excuse us for arriving late. Did we keep you waiting?" 

"Oh of course not. Don't you worry about it, we just showed up also!" An unfamiliar women said.

Thomas presumed she was the mother or aunt of the girl he was about to meet. And that girl... Must've been the one standing off to the side with neatly straightened, shiny black hair that ran over her chest. She wore a simple, yet still fancy dress and seemed to have a great deal of makeup covering her features for she had absolutely no imperfections. 

Thomas' eyes met hers for a quick moment. She smiled at him but then they quickly turned their attentions to the doors as they were opened by a butler who then led them to their large, clothed dining table. The two families insisted the girl and him sat across from each other near the edge of the table so they could get acquainted with each other.

Thomas pulled out the chair for her. She thanked him with her soothing yet slightly husk voice and sat down. He then pulled out his own chair and sat across from her as his father had said to do. The menus arrived before they could introduce themselves, which was perfectly timed considering Thomas' still wasn't sure what to say to her yet. 

As his eyes ran over the menu which included a multitude of assortments like seafood, pasta, and chocolate, he prepared himself to greet her with the most friendly yet still formal tone he could. He had rehearsed this since settling in his room on the ship a few hours ago. After the waiter took orders, in which he ordered a croque-monsieur and she ordered a caesar salad, they then introduced themselves.

"I'm sure you've already heard, my name is Thomas Bukater. It's a pleasure to meet you, Teresa Agnes," He started.

"Oh, you don't have to be so formal," Teresa said with a hand wave, which she then realized was out of line so she put her hand down into her lap. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Thomas. Looks like we're due to have a pleasant day together today."

There was something about Teresa that Thomas had caught on quite quickly. She also wasn't so used to being formal and elegant either as said by the way she often adjusted herself in her seat and brought her back up when realizing she slumped. It was amusing. He wanted to ask her about it but now wasn't the time, not in front of their parents. And so, he continued on with the rehearsed script and asked her simple questions with enthusiasm the situation could be compared to as if they were parents meeting at a bus stop. And when the food arrived, they talked less. It was a great escape to avoid more awkward conversation.

After the lunch, the two waved off their parents as they stood side by side at the door which lead outside to the deck. Their parents seemed rather pleased with their act so they had played it off just fine. When the adults turned their backs to head down the stairs, Thomas opened the door for Teresa, letting in the salty air.

Outside, they stood against the railing together, under the shade, and looked out to the blue, glittering ocean. It was beautiful, Thomas had to admit. Teresa's hair blew in the wind, she pulled it back around her ear to prevent any tangles.

"You don't seem to be the type who's good at being formal," Teresa said abruptly. She had cut the well-mannered act.

Thomas chuckled. "Neither do you."

"Ugh, I hate it," Teresa groaned. "Honestly, I'm sick of having to act all polite and put together. Sometimes I just want to go out without any makeup or doing my hair and just do the normal things any other lower class person would do." 

And just about all around the dock, were people of all classes doing "normal things." A father held his child up on his shoulders. Teenagers giggled together and occasionally flirtatiously touched each other. A woman wrote in her journal on a bench. 

And a lower-class young man with messy blonde hair sat alone, drawing in a sketchbook.

Were these the "normal things" that Teresa wanted to do?

"I couldn't agree anymore," Thomas said.

But they both knew that their ideals would never be fulfilled. For being born in the rich class meant there were certain laws to abide by. Thomas found himself wondering what other "normal things" the middle and under-class did if they didn't go out for tea every two seconds and spent hours preparing their clothes for the day.

Oh, how he wished he could just be normal.


	3. A Sketch

The slight sound of scratching could be heard as Newt carefully slid the pencil led across the thick, tanned paper. He sat on a bench with one leg crossed over the other, resting his hold on the sketchbook. The sunlight beamed down onto the water, reflecting it. It was a bit blinding but made for perfect contrast in light and shade. 

His brightened brown eyes trailed up to the couple who leaned their arms against the railing. They looked out to the vast sea and occasionally, each other. Their black hair blew in the wind, making it hard to capture onto the paper. But that part would just have to be improvised.

From the angle he was sitting at, he couldn't see the man's face since he often looked in the opposite direction towards the girl. And she was pretty, no doubt. 

But there was something Newt noticed about her that had his suspicions raised. The girl didn't smile so much, she seemed to be talking about something that had bothered her from the way her eyes curved downwards. 

Newt had always been an observer ever since he picked up the pencil for the first time. He studied people's expressions, face and body, and drew them down onto paper. While he wasn't particularly the best at reading literature, he could interpret people's emotions well. By the way the couple stood at an awkward distance away from each other and didn't make easy eye contact, they seemed to be unfamiliar with each other, yet still acquainted.

The voice of his friend interrupted his thoughts. Gally casted a shadow over the paper, which made it easier to look up at him since he was blocking out the sun. "Newt, wanna head over to the pub? I found some boys who got some cash from some trunk." He smiled proudly as if he had found the treasure himself.

"Sure," Newt replied. "Give me just a moment. I have to finish my..." He took a look at the couple to see that the girl had left the man to talk to another girl with long, brown hair. She pulled her hair behind her ear shyly. 

"On another thought, yeah. Let's go." Newt finished and stood up, leaving the unfinished drawing on the bench. He tucked the pencil behind his ear and followed his friend down a flight of stairs on the other side of the deck since the one he had been sitting next to was reserved for the upper class.

The lower decks, where most of the lower and middle class passengers were concentrated, were noticeably more crowded of people and certainly rowdy. And the lower you went down the series of decks, the louder they got. When the two arrived at the bar, Gally called out to the supposed man who had some cash from a trunk. Newt followed him, slipping through the crowds of (mostly) men who held their drinks up, reeked of smoke, and laughed like hogs. But despite the stigma that the lower class was made up of savages, Newt could feel the prosperity filling the room. And it was overwhelming.

"Alby, this is Newt. Newt, this is Alby," Gally introduced his two acquaintances. 

Alby sat at the bar with a few other friends who all seemed to be enjoying themselves. He held out a sweaty hand, "Yo, Newt. A strange name you got there."

Newt smiled and took his hand. "If it makes up for my strange name, my last name is Dawson."

"Dawson?! Damn. What are you, prince of the northfolk?" Alby let out a cackle which his friends reciprocated. 

"He's got a handsome face too. No homo though." A man behind Alby remarked. He had curly, blonde hair and a pudgy face. "I'm Zart. Nice to meet ya. Alby here stole a whole wad of cash!"

"Nah, it wasn't like that," Alby retorted back. "I didn't steal it. More of just finders-keepers. You tell people I steal one more time, I'm taking that drink back!" 

He then looked at Gally and Newt. "Alright, now what drinks do you want? Let's celebrate our arrival on the Titanic 'till midnight!"

The two looked at each other and enthusiastically agreed. They squeezed themselves next to Alby at the counter and ordered their drinks.

Meanwhile, the man who had been left alone by the girl sat on the bench where Newt had been. He buried his face into his hands and took in a deep breath of the crisp air. A sound of crinkling caught his attention. He looked off to the side and noticed a crumpled up paper at the edge of the bench. Curious, he swiped at it before it could fly away and straightened it out. What he saw, amazed him from the bottom of his heart.

An unfinished sketch of him and the girl at the railing.


End file.
